The Unspeakable Girl
by SweetDeamon
Summary: "She makes me feel so on top of this world that I wish I'd never been born into it in the first place! So I can't stand to talk about her, Dad! I simply can't!" In which Remus Lupin visits his father and confesses something quite extraordinary. Based on information from POTTERMORE. Consider yourselves warned. RLNT.


**The Unspeakable Girl**

The record player's crackly progress through the song was making him drowsy, and Lyall Lupin supposed that one knew old age had truly arrived when sleep was appealing so early on in the day. It had been raining the entire morning long, it seemed to rain most days in this Welsh valley, and Lyall was just pondering the no doubt sodden state of his ramshackle little garden when a first banging loudly upon the cottage door jolted him wider awake.

Reaching warily for his wand, for a knock at the door could bring dark tidings in times like this, the old widower eased himself stiffly upon onto his feet and shuffled cautiously towards the door. He squinted through the little looking hole at the outside world and called:

"Who is it?! What do you want?!"

"A cup of tea might be preferable." a familiar voice called in reply, and at the sound of it Lyall's heart leapt in his chest. He scrabbled to unlock the heavy door and throw it open wide, gasping in a joyous breath at the sight of the drenched individual stood upon the doorstep, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his hair plastered o his forehead with damp.

"Remus!" Lyall exclaimed, eyes widening at the sight of his son, and Remus Lupin straightened up a little with a smile.

"Hello Dad." the werewolf greeted, and Lyall instantly reached to seize him by the arm, drawing him inside out of the downpour.

"My boy!" the old wizard exclaimed, throwing his arms around his son, slapping him heartily upon the back as the door swung shut behind them. "It's been too long! Much, much too long!"

"I know, I'm sorry." Remus murmured, consenting to hugging him back briefly before reaching to pull the drenched cloak from his shoulders. "I don't mean to stay away, only I've been on O..."

"Order business! Yes, yes..." Lyall turned to make a beeline for the little kitchen off the sitting room, briskly instructing: "Get yourself sat before that fire, son! You'll catch your death!" Glancing round he examined his son critically for a moment before demanding to know: "Have you been eating?!"

"Yes, Dad..." Remus assured him dully, rolling his eyes a little as he went to drop down into an armchair.

"Three square meals a day?!"

"For Merlin's sake..."

"What was that?!"

"Yes, Dad! Three square meals a day!"

"Well you should try for four! You don't look nearly fed enough! Tea, is it?! Do you want cake?! Mrs. Tinley down the lane baked me a cake! Lemon drizzle! Not terribly fond of it myself. Your mother always liked it, mind you...I'll give it to you to take away, shall I? You can share it with Sirius. I should have a tin here somewhere, I'll put it in that. Goodness, I really must have a good clean out of these cupboards, you know. Your mother wouldn't stand for such a mess, would she? Where's the sugar gotten to? You don't take sugar, do you? Ah, here it is! Hiding behind the kettle, goodness me...now then! Tell me all about what you've been up to! You've not gotten into any more scraps lately, have you? Because you know whether it's for the cause or not, Remus, you really do worry me sick! Perhaps I'm better off it you don't tell me, eh?" Lyall laughed merrily as he set the kettle to boil with a flick of his wand. He always felt so happy when Remus came to visit, it was like having the life jolted back into him. It was so lonely in the cottage all on his own, he missed his wife so dreadfully even after all these years and as friendly as his neighbours were the only person he ever really wanted to see was his son. They always had such a lovely time together, Remus always had a story or two to tell him and he was always cheerful no matter how grim life had become. Remus was, and always had been, a complete and utter joy to Lyall. He had his mother's quiet sense of humour that made Lyall shake with laughter and he looked rather like Hope too, which Lyall found oddly comforting. Of course whenever Remus visited he looked a little thinner, a little greyer, a little more worn than before, but Lyall hardly noticed, he just saw the smiles and the laughter and the assurance that whenever Remus appeared unannounced he would no doubt make Lyall's day.

Lyall was usually a quiet man, indeed one might call him a man of few words. Except for when Remus came to see him, then he'd talk and babble happily for hours with barely a pause...

Lyall paused.

There was silence.

"Did you hear, Remus?" he said, reaching for a pair of cup and saucers. "I said perhaps you'd better not tell me, eh?"

More silence.

Lyall frowned deeply, turning to shuffle back towards the kitchen door.

"Remus...?" He came to a halt in the doorway, his cheer instantly faltering.

Remus was sat upon the edge of the armchair by the fire, hunched forward, his face buried in his hands.

"Remus, what on earth's the matter?" Lyall asked, abandoning his tea making to hurry across to his son, but Remus merely slumped further forward, fingers grasping at his hair.

"Has somebody died?" Lyall asked worriedly, heart sinking at the very thought, but the werewolf shook his head.

"No? Then what is it?"

Remus seemed to wrestle with this question for a long moment before slowly straightening up a little, peering up at his father rather solemnly, and then to Lyall's astonishment he confessed:

"There's a...there's a _girl_, Dad."

"A girl?" Lyall repeated, as if the concept was entirely foreign to him. "You mean a...a young lady?"

In response, Remus buried his face in his hands again.

Lyall reached to grasp hold of the back of the armchair. The idea was making him feel a little unsteady on his feet.

"Goodness!" he exclaimed, a broad grin spreading across his face despite his son's apparent gloom. "A young lady! My son has a young lady!"

"No he doesn't, Dad!" Remus snapped, hands falling to his lap with a slap that made Lyall flinch. "Of course not! I...I don't have her! I don't have...have anyone!"

"Oh come, Remus!" Lyall cried, not at all deterred by semantics, "Let's hear, then! I want to hear all about her!"

This was probably the most exciting news that Lyall had heard in the past decade. His son didn't ever really seem interested in young ladies or romance or anything of the sort. Both Lyall and his wife had always assumed this sort of thing just wouldn't happen to somebody like their son. After all Remus had been dead set against such notions right from the beginning. Love was something he couldn't preoccupy himself with, he always insisted, it was entirely unhealthy and unnatural for somebody to fall in love with him. It simply wouldn't happen. Consequently Remus never seemed to so much as look twice at any woman who passed him by, he seemed to have some sort of self-crafted immunity to the various allures of the female race. If some miraculous individual had somehow smashed through his defences, Lyall wanted to hear all about her, perhaps in the hope that one day in the future he might present her with some form of medal...

Tea forgotten, he went to sit in the chair opposite his son who had slumped back in his chair as if the whole business was exhausting.

"What's her name, then?" Lyall asked, leaning eagerly forward, and Remus' face contorted at the question.

"Dad, please..."

Lyall sobered, leaning back a little. There was a long silence before he observed:

"Goodness me, Remus. Whatever her name is, I suspect she's quite something, from the state of you. Do tell me about her, won't you? Perhaps I can...help..."

"Help with what?" his son asked miserably, and Lyall confessed:

"Believe it or not, I was in love once upon a time."

"That's...different."

"Is it really?"

"Yes."

"Love is a universal language, son. Now tell me about this young lady who isn't yours and perhaps you might feel better for it. What's her name?"

Remus went back to burying his face in his hands. When he didn't say anything for a long moment, Lyall sighed and heaved himself back onto his feet.

"I'll fetch that tea, shall I?" he murmured, shuffling back towards the kitchen.

Remus didn't respond.

Lyall hadn't seen his son so down since Remus had appeared upon his doorstep at two o'clock in the morning babbling incoherently about the Potters' deaths and a complete loss of comprehension of what he was supposed to be doing in life. Back then Lyall had bundled him into a bed, forced a generous glass of sleeping draught down the delirious werewolf's throat and had sat watching over him until he woke again the following afternoon. Over the course of the following four days they had discussed the whole dismal situation very little. Remus had refused to leave his bed for the duration of his stay, had, to Lyall's shock, wept profusely on the first day and been entirely mute for the following three. He had disappeared entirely on the fourth afternoon when Lyall had popped to fetch a pint of milk from the local shops. He hadn't responded to Lyall's daily letters for two weeks afterwards, in which time Lyall had grown positively sick with worry, resorting to writing to Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody and half a dozen others he knew of from the Order of the Phoenix who might just know of Remus' whereabouts. When Remus had finally written back, it was almost as if the whole sorry episode had never happened.

It never boded well, Lyall realised as he poured tea into the two teacups, when his son refused to talk to him...

"Nymphadora." said a quiet voice in the kitchen doorway, and Lyall turned to find Remus stood watching him, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

"What's that?" Lyall said, having not quite grasped what the werewolf had said, and Remus had shifted his feet awkwardly, frowning down at his worn leather shoes.

"Nymphadora." he said again, voice even quieter than before. "Her name is Nymphadora."

Lyall felt relief flooding through him and before he could stop himself he said:

"That's an unusual sort of name."

"Yes," Remus agreed, lips twitching towards a grimacing smile. "She says it's...it's not really...not really any sort of a name at all because...because her mother made it up..."

"How did you meet her?"

"She's in the Order."

"A young lady with backbone, then. I think I like her already. What does she do for a living?"

"She's a...she's an Auror."

"An Auror?"

"Yes..."

"Goodness, and how old is she?"

Remus paused at this question, frowning deeply, before his shoulders slumped and he muttered:

"Not nearly old enough."

Lyall chuckled disbelievingly, turning to retrieve their cups and saucers.

"A fully qualified Auror is perfectly old enough for most things, I think you'll find!"

"In which case," Remus amended, stepping sideways so that Lyall could lead the way back into the sitting room, "She's perfectly old enough and I'm perfectly too old by far."

"And what's she like?" Lyall asked as the sat back down and he leant to hand Remus his tea.

Remus accepted the cup and frowned down a the steam rising steadily from the drink.

"She's...well she's...I suppose she's rather..." he trailed off, lips pursed tightly together.

"She sounds fascinating." Lyall decided as he took a sip of his tea, but Remus didn't seem to be listening.

"She's just...perfect, Dad." the werewolf concluded miserably. "She's just perfect."

"I didn't expect anything less." Lyall admitted. "And what does she look like?"

He felt a little confused when Remus sighed and said:

"She looks like whatever she wants to, Dad."

Lyall felt as if perhaps he might need to be a little more specific.

"Is she tall?" he tried, and Remus sipped dismally at his tea and recalled:

"No, not usually."

"What colour hair does she have?"

"I don't really know..."

"You don't know?"

"...well it was pink yesterday. And blue last week. It was blonde the week before but I don't think she really liked it..." Remus trailed off, glancing up to see the confusion on his father's face. As Lyall struggled to comprehend quite what his son was talking about, Remus reached into the inside pocket of his robes to draw out a faded, battered leather wallet. Flipping it open he reached to pull out a dog-eared photograph that he held out for his father's inspection.

Crammed into the small photograph was an enormous shaggy black dog lying in front of a dusty old sofa, its pink tongue lolling rather comically out of the side of it's mouth. Upon the sofa, one leg stretched out in front of her, the other knee hugged towards her chest, was a young woman dressed in a stripy ribbed jumper and pale blue jeans patched in a variety of mismatched materials. She had a thin, heart shaped face framed by short, choppy hair that was coloured vivid pink. She was grinned at the camera, dark eyes twinkling as she reached to scratch the shaggy canine between the ears.

"That's...that's her with...with Padfoot..." Remus mumbled, sounding abashed. "I...she doesn't know I...the photograph belongs to Sirius...they don't know I've...that I've taken it..."

Lyall watched thoughtfully as the witch's hair turned from pink to a deep shade of blue.

"Goodness," he murmured, eyes widening a little, "a metamorphmagus! You can pick them, can't you son?"

One glance up at Remus' face suggested that he did not find this at all amusing. Lyall felt instantly indignant on his behalf.

"And why shouldn't you, eh?! Why shouldn't you pick beauty and brains if you can be lucky enough to spot them?!"

"There are plenty of reasons, Dad..." Remus began, only for his father to slap the photograph down upon the coffee table, snapping:

"Nonsense! If she likes you then where's the harm?!"

"I could do her plenty harm!" the son insisted hotly, reaching to snatch up the photograph and store it carefully away again. "Fortunately she'll never have to worry about that, it wouldn't occur to her to be anything but a friend to me! She's got a brain, like you say, so she's bound to have enough sense to see I'm too...too poor and...and too old and far too dangerous!" Remus reached to shove the wallet deep into his inside pocket, shifting uneasily in his chair as he decided: "That's all there is to it, Dad, there's nothing else to say."

"Oh Remus," Lyall said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I think there's plenty more to say."

"I don't want to talk about it." Remus said, once again burying his face in his hands.

"Why not?" Lyall asked softly, reaching to run a weary hand through his grey hair. "Why not let me help you?"

"Because I can't stand to talk about her, Dad." the werewolf confessed miserably. "She makes me so...so unbearably sad! She's funny and clever and she makes me laugh and smile and yet every time she makes me laugh I want to cry ten times as hard! Every time she makes me smile I want to bury my face in my hands and never look at anything ever again! She makes me so happy that I'm utterly distraught! She makes me feel so on top of this world that I wish I'd never been born into it in the first place! So I can't stand to talk about her, Dad! I simply can't!"

And Lyall considered this despairing situation for a long minute, before reaching forward to pat his son comfortingly upon the knee.

"Then we'll never say another word about her, Remus." the werewolf's father told his son solemnly. "I don't want to hear a single word about this young lady who isn't yours. I don't want to know about this girl who makes you sad. But I'm telling you now, my boy, one of these days she will yours. One of these days she will make you happy. I won't believe otherwise, no matter what you say. Because old men can have dreams for their children and live for the day that they come true! And when that day comes, my son, we'll talk about her all day and all night! And all the next day and all the next night! Because love is the most glorious of things, Remus. And you'll have done the two of you the greatest of disservices if you ever deny love for even a second."

They talked of the fascinating book Lyall had read the week previously and how Remus would no doubt enjoy reading it himself. They talked of Remus' increasing concern over Sirius' drinking habits and how good it was to have Molly Weasley around to feed them good food most evenings. They talked of Remus' mother's cooking and just how much Lyall missed her Sunday roast and drowning his dinner in gravy which she seemed to have made taste unnaturally good. They talked of the good old days and even managed to laugh at a memory or two. Then they had taken to the kitchen to make a generous platter of sandwiches for lunch. Lyall ate only a couple, blaming his age for a persistent lack of appetite, and insisted Remus finish the rest off on his own.

Remus ate until he felt faintly bloated, confessing to this seemed to give Lyall some form of satisfaction and he had grinned approvingly and offered the werewolf a slice of cake. Having refused his father's offer vehemently, Remus had returned to lounge in an armchair before the fireplace, feeling distinctly sleepy. Lyall had bustled off to make another cup of tea and, upon his return a few minutes later, discovered his son had dosed off to sleep. Remus had woken up once the cup and saucer had been deposited onto his knee, they had talked about nothing in particular for a while before, as was custom, Remus drained his cup, rose from his chair and set about a probing inspection of his father's cottage.

"Is the tap in the bathroom still leaking?"

"No, no! Don't worry yourself, Remus, I can manage..."

"I'll check."

"It's fine! I had a neighbour come and look at it only last week!"

"How's the garden?"

"Sodden wet, I imagine! Come and sit down, for Merlin's sake!"

"Any gnomes?"

"What?"

"Gnomes, Dad! D'you have gnomes again?"

"I rather like them, actually...funny little things..."

"You weren't saying that last summer when they reduced the garden shed to a pile of twigs."

"That wasn't them though, was it?! That was...I was trying to stun one of the blighters and missed...terrible, terrible mess...of course catching them isn't half hard work when you get to my age..."

"You've been setting protective wards, haven't you? Like I said last I came..."

"Yes, yes...any word on that?"

"Any word on what?"

"Order safe houses, Remus! I told you to tell Dumbledore you're all perfectly welcome..."

"No."

"No?"

"Not in your condition, Dad."

"I don't have a condition, Remus! How many times...!"

"You don't need the risk, the hassle or the worry."

"You've a nerve, did you know?!"

"Yes, it's my obligation as a son, I think you'll find. Feel free to write to Dumbledore. I'm perfectly confident he'll politely decline your offer."

"Had words, have you?"

"One or two, perhaps."

Lyall had huffed into his teacup and insisted again:

"I don't have a condition!"

He was lying.

Remus knew he was lying.

He knew that Remus knew he was lying.

It didn't really bother Lyall. He had been diagnosed with a number of ailments over recent years, none of which were surprising for a man of his age, and most recently he had began to realise that things were beginning to get rather stacked up against him. He was slowing down. He'd probably stop all together, one of these days.

Today, however, Lyall felt bothered.

Because he had a vision of sorts of how things ought to be at the end of his life, and things were not looking right in the slightest.

He'd hoped to see his son truly settled down at long last. He had to confess that really he had never known quite what he meant by this because he knew full well that Remus settling down in the average sense of the word was...well...more than highly improbable. But Lyall was hoping for at least some semblance of stability in his son's life. Something other than Lyall himself who would not be there forever, or something other than gaining long term purpose through an organisation like the Order of the Phoenix which was, by nature, not long term in the slightest. The Order would, like last time, be either victorious or thrown down in defeat. Either way at some point it would be gone, and Remus' entire life routine, or, Merlin forbid it, life full stop, would be gone with it.

But suddenly Lyall's hopes for stability had all become more specific and focused.

He wanted to live to see his son loved. Loved by the unspeakable girl he loved back. There was nothing more stable and anchoring in life than true, unwavering love. If Remus had that, Lyall had no true worry about his son's potential life after he was gone.

Remus left late that afternoon, confessing to no concrete idea of when he might visit again, and as usual Lyall smiled brightly and told him he would look forward to another visit, whenever that might be.

As the year wore on Remus appeared for visits at increasingly long intervals and stayed for increasingly short periods of time. Sometimes, usually after particularly long absences that lasted for several months, he would write a week or so in advance to tell Lyall that, come hell or high water, he would be dropping by for tea. Each time he found his son upon his doorstep, Lyall would hope for news of the unspeakable girl, but Remus never mentioned her and overall Lyall couldn't help but feel that Remus' attempts at other cheerful conversations were becoming increasingly half-hearted.

Lyall feared his son was slipping into a depression, one severe enough that for once Remus might fail entirely to keep the darkness buried. The werewolf was persistently melancholy and Lyall feared for his apparent dulled senses and increasing inability to remain focused on a conversation, let alone anything else.

It was no condition for a mind, Lyall thought, so caught up in a war.

And Lyall found himself nagging.

_Be careful, son, be very careful._

_Watch yourself, Remus, be sure to stay alert._

_Don't grow reckless, my boy, no matter if you think you don't care._

_Keep your chin up, stay positive._

_Know your worth and know it's high! _

_Don't let yourself slip._

_Don't think like that._

_Don't say that._

_Don't assume that._

_Don't do that._

Their relationship, Lyall feared, suffered.

He had never been a particularly interfering parent or prone to lecturing. Indeed Lyall Lupin was, in all regards, mild and unobtrusive by nature and any probing he did into his adult son's life was distinctly feeble and vague and full of non-too-precise hints.

But, as imprecise as it was, he was growing uncontrollably persistent. He couldn't seem to help himself. He found himself unable to wait for Remus to visit in order to try and push him in the right direction and away from a downward spiral. He wrote letters most weeks and when Remus continuously failed to write back Lyall began to expect it was more than just Order business keeping his son from putting quill to parchment.

After all, it didn't matter how subtle Lyall was trying to be. Remus was, for one thing, not stupid and for another, knew his father far too well. He knew he was being pushed and prodded and scrutinised and Lyall suspected the werewolf's fatigued mind was gloomily leading him to think: _I just can't be bothered with it_. All of Lyall's attempts to drag his son out of his depression were stoically ignored, be they via letters or indeed comments over lunch.

There was an elephant in the room and Lyall felt as if it were trampling him.

He learnt of Sirius' death via a distressingly short note that Remus sent him a couple of days after his latest visit. Lyall had immediately written back, insisting Remus return to him at once, fearing the same crushing loss that had left his son in such a dreadful state upon the Potters' deaths.

Remus had responded via a scribbled few lines explaining that at present he could not leave St. Mungo's. The notion had made Lyall weak at the knees and he had been preparing to dash over to the hospital in question when another note arrived. Realising his blunder, Remus had amended that he was at a friend's bedside and was unsure when she would be discharged. He himself was 'entirely unscathed'.

If only physically.

As time wore on Lyall found that physically his son was not doing terribly well either. He looked increasingly ragged and thin and though Remus seemed to visit on a more regular and structured basis sometimes the sight of him made Lyall feel weak with worry. Remus refused to say what it was precisely he was up to in those long months and he stopped writing letters and told Lyall to write to Dumbledore should he want to get in touch.

Lyall tried to stay positive. He tried to take comfort from knowing exactly when Remus was coming. He planned elaborate lunches and asked Mrs. Higgins up the road to bake him a chocolate cake, and tidied up the cottage so that when he did come Remus didn't get the opportunity to fuss over him too much. Lyall even cleared up the back garden a little and gave the old bench a lick of fresh paint so that they could sit outside if the weather was fine.

Then, Remus stopped visiting.

Weeks turned into months and at first Lyall was not worried.

Then he saw the death of Albus Dumbledore announced in the Quibbler and the shock had made him write frantically in search of his son's whereabouts and wellbeing.

Remus wrote and promised to visit the following week. But that week came and went, and so did many after.

Remus had never missed a visit before.

He had cancelled on occasion, or been a few hours late, but he had always written to warn Lyall of his absence. He had never simply...not shown up.

Lyall didn't know what to do. He didn't know who to contact. He'd always written to Dumbledore up until then, and with Dumbledore gone...

He felt sick. Constantly. Sick and tired and yet frantic and come the third week with no news Lyall woke up one morning and simply stayed in bed.

He couldn't face getting up.

Couldn't face going about his day concentrating on simple tasks like making breakfast or giving the bathroom sink a good scrub clean.

He'd spent the morning worrying about Remus and thinking that if he ever did get hold of his son he'd give him a good talking to for being so ridiculously inconsiderate to his father's mental health.

By the afternoon he was beginning to realise that it wasn't just Remus making him ill.

He seemed to have developed a cough. He couldn't seem to remember when it had started, which was odd because it was painful and not the sort of cough one could easily ignore. He felt rather sweaty and hot and his chest felt dreadfully tight...

By the third day Lyall Lupin was worse by far.

He was beginning to suspect that it would not be long before he would be bedridden whether he chose to be or not.

His health was failing, he realised, and his son was nowhere to be found. Time dragged on with no news until the sun sank down below the trees outside, taking Lyall's spirits with it. The evening arrived and Lyall was just dosing off to sleep when he was jolted awake by the sound of knocking upon the front door downstairs.

Lyall flung back the blankets and set about dragging himself out of bed, ignoring his aching limbs and wheezing as he struggled into slippers and a dressing gown before rushing clumsily downstairs.

It was Remus. It had to be Remus, it couldn't possibly be anyone else because Lyall was sure his heart couldn't take it otherwise, and Merlin when he got his hands on that son of his he was going to hug him so tightly and then wring his neck, the inconsiderate little...

Lyall reached to fling the door open without so much as a cautious call and promptly froze at the sight before him.

"Sorry I'm late...Order business..." Remus announced, expression a little sheepish, and Lyall might have pointed out that over a month late probably constituted the need for more of an apology than that given how worried he had been, but he was too preoccupied by the fact that his son was not alone.

A young witch with dark twinkling eyes and unmistakable bright pink hair was stood at the werewolf's side, her hand tucked firmly into the crook of Remus' arm as she offered the elderly wizard a bright smile as he stared at her.

"Hi..." the unspeakable girl said, straightening up a little from leaning casually against Remus' shoulder, and Lyall had to fight against grinning widely when Remus supplied:

"Dad meet Dora, Dora meet Dad..."

"Hi Dad!" Dora amended, eyes crinkling a little in amusement, and as Remus gave a soft huff of laughter, Lyall gave himself a shake.

"What a lovely surprise!" Lyall said, fumbling a little to push back the sleeve of his too-large dressing gown so that he could offer the witch a hand. "Nice to meet you, Dora."

She had a reassuringly firm handshake once she had pulled her hand free from Remus' arm, and as he ushered them inside, mumbling apologetically about his attire, Lyall found he was instantly quite taken with her. She wasn't in the least bit shy to meet him and she smiled an awful lot, which in turn seemed to make Remus smile an awful lot and despite her vibrant appearance she was surprisingly softly spoken. She did, however, laugh loudly when Remus warned his father against breaking out the best china, and there was something a little telling about the look she shot in the werewolf's direction at this apparent jibe.

"I've been known to smash a cup or two or three or four." she had explained with a broad grin as she took the seat Lyall had offered her, and Lyall found that if she were a clumsy sort of person this didn't quite extend to her conversational skills. Within minutes of being offered a mug of tea she had informed him that Remus had been telling her all about his work on boggarts, and he was quite impressed when she proceeded to recall one obscure boggart-related theory or another that she claimed to find particularly fascinating.

"Have you been doing homework before I brought you here?!" Remus wondered somewhat incredulously as he had sat down beside her, and Dora had rolled her eyes at him in response.

"I don't think it's called homework when you get past twenty." she'd reasoned, taking a sip of tea, and Remus had wondered:

"What is it called, then?"

"Research, Remus." she'd said, entirely non-plussed to have been caught out. "Everybody does it. Don't you remember when I took you to meet my parents and you suddenly developed an encyclopedic knowledge of cottage garden shrubbery? Which, I should probably point out, isn't in the least bit interesting! Unlike boggarts. I'm not a complete fraud, you know. I do have a genuine interest in shape-shifters."

"Cottage garden shrubbery?" Lyall echoed, struggling to suppress a snigger and managing to dissolve into a hacking cough instead, and whilst Remus looked up at him with a frown, Dora politely ignored his outburst and told him:

"My mum can be incredibly dull when she puts her mind to it."

"Well then," Lyall managed once he had his spluttering under control, ignoring his son's staring. "Let's try and avoid talk of a botanical nature..."

And then Remus leant forward in his chair a little, reaching to rest a hand upon Dora's knee as he suggested pointedly:

"Let's talk about something unspeakable!"

Dora laughed rather uncertainly, trailing off at the abruptly serious expression that dawned upon Lyall's face.

Because this was it, Lyall realised. This was the day. The day they stopped not talking about a girl who made Remus sad. The day they talked and talked and talked about a girl who made Remus happy.

And it didn't matter how tired Lyall felt or how much of a strain it seemed to be to speak. They'd talk and talk and talk some more. They'd talk until he couldn't think of a single word left to say, until his jaw ached and fatigue took him.

"Let's talk," Lyall said as Dora reached to rest her free hand atop of Remus', "about Dora." And he found himself beaming as he said: "I want to hear all about you! I've wanted to hear about you for such a long time!"

"Dirty little secret, am I?" Dora joked elbowing Remus gently in the ribs, and the werewolf looked instantly embarrassed. Shifting in her seat, the witch grinned widely. "It's alright. I'm getting pretty good at this whole secrecy thing...what with being in a secret organisation and everything. In fact I'm getting so good at it that I even forget when I'm allowed to stop being secretive..." She reached into the inside pocket of her robes, fumbling around searchingly and Remus offered his father an abashed look and suggested:

"Perhaps you ought brace yourself, Dad."

"Brace myself?"

"Yes..."

"Don't be daft," Dora said as she withdrew her hand from her pocket again. "Honestly, you'd think I was about to reveal a Dark Mark on my forearm..."

"It's equally as shocking and improbable." Remus insisted, and she shot him a distinctly withering look that Lyall felt oddly approving of before she slipped something onto her finger and held it out for Lyall's inspection.

Lyall very nearly splashed tea into his lap.

"Goodness me!" he wheezed, eyes widening as he stared at the delicate little ring upon her finger, the single small diamond glinting triumphantly up at him.  
"You're a terrible show off." Remus informed his fiancee frankly, and she tossed her head and told him:

"Well you won't let me tell hardly anybody! I thought I'd better blurt it out before you got the chance to stop me!"

"I wasn't going to stop you...I just..."

"The truth is, he's been dreadfully nervous, Dad!" Dora explained briskly, cutting Remus off before he could mumble an excuse. "We've meant to visit for the past three days and he only agreed to come now because I found his address book lurking in a drawer and I said if he didn't come today I'd come without him."

Lyall managed to drag his gaze away from the engagement ring so that he could look at his son, failing not to look slightly hurt.

"Nervous, Remus?" he said, pausing to stifle a cough into his hand. "To come and tell your...your own father the best...best news he's heard since...since he doesn't know when! How could you be nervous?"

Remus' face was growing steadily pink and he gave a resigned huff.

"Well I...I suppose I...perhaps you might not...well...approve..."

"Approve?!" Lyall cried, coughing in his agitation. "You're worried I might not approve?!" His chest felt tight in frustration at the whole business and he was struggling to control his breathing, leaving him gasping for breath until Remus leant across to press a hand to his arm, asking:

"Are you alright, Dad?"

"F...fine! Fine, ab...absolutely fine!" As he struggled against the urge to cough and splutter Lyall caught Remus shooting Dora a meaningful look and she hurriedly rose to her feet.

"Shall I fetch you a glass of water?" the witch suggested kindly, and before Lyall could answer Remus had given her a firm nudge towards the kitchen and she had hurried off, promising: "I'll try not to smash any glasses once I find them!"

"Cupboard above the toaster, darling."

"Right!"

Lyall managed to stem his spluttering just in time for Remus to turn back to fix him with a distinctly agitated look.

"Dora's wrong, Dad." the werewolf whispered as Lyall reached to mop the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "I'm not worried about you approving in the slightest. If...if Dora's parents can be civil about it then you're bound to be all for it, I've never doubted that for a second..."

"Then it's your own approval you're afraid of!" Lyall whispered back, feeling even more frustrated than before. "For the love of Merlin, son, don't be a fool! Marry your unspeakable girl! Because she _is _yours and she's determined to _stay_ yours! I can see it without a doubt and I've barely met her!"

There was a long pause as father and son stared intently at one another for a long moment, before Remus sighed heavily and a broad smile spread across his face.

"Isn't she marvellous!" he breathed, and Lyall told him:

"I couldn't have hoped for better, Remus. Not even in my wildest dreams..."

When Lyall was forced to smother his coughing into the sleeve of his dressing gown, Remus rose from his chair to get a closer look at him.

"You truly are ill...have...have you any medicine?"

"No, no. Can't cure old age, you know."

"How long have you been like this?"

"Oh I don't know! It's not important, we're getting distracted and Dora'll be back any moment..."

"But Dad, if you're sick..."

"Just...promise me you'll marry her!"

"Dad..."

"Promise me you'll marry her, Remus, because I've no peace until you do! Promise me you'll love her and keep her safe and happy because I've no doubt she'll do the same for you. I never expected such a thing for you, I can admit that to you now, but for the love of Merlin it's been keeping me awake at night knowing it could be possible! And now I've met her! I've met your unspeakable girl and I want to talk and talk about her and know for sure she's yours because she is even more glorious than I ever imagined!"

And as Dora reappeared from the kitchen Remus cast a glance sideways at her before telling his father:

"I promise. With all my heart."

"Here we are!" Dora announced brightly as she appeared at Lyall's elbow, and, glancing at the clock above the fireplace, Remus observed:

"It's terribly late. We ought have come earlier..."

"You'll ask the Death Eaters to excuse you from duelling next time they try to ambush us, will you?" Dora wondered, raising an eyebrow, and Remus chuckled grimly.

"Oh no, that would be far too rude of me. But Dad ought be resting, he's really rather unwell..."

"Don't fuss, Remus."

"...I'll stay over and...and try and send for a healer in the morning."

"That's not necessary..." Lyall attempted to protest weakly, but Dora decided:

"We'll both stay, shall we? It's Mad-Eye's turn at Malfoy Manor tonight, isn't it? I swapped with him last week."

And before Lyall knew it he had been escorted carefully back upstairs, tucked up in bed with his glass of water.

"Where were you?" he finally managed to ask as they finished fussing over the blankets that were tucked firmly around him. "That day...that day you said you'd be here and you...you didn't come..."

Remus' face grew ashen with guilt and he confessed:

"I got rather...sidetracked..."

"Sidetracked?"

"Yes..."

"Were you hurt?" Lyall asked, thinking of all the dreadful thoughts and images that had been racing through his mind ever since the day in question, and Remus _ummm_ed rather uncertainly before Dora sniggered and informed Lyall:

"He wasn't hurt, Lyall." She shot a telling look sideways at Remus that made him turn to gaze out of the window as if it were fascinating when she elaborated: "He was with me."

"Oh!" Lyall wheezed, feeling a sudden wave of relief, not giving a thought to quite why his son looked so embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Remus said, managing to meet his father's gaze steadily again. "I completely forgot I was supposed to be coming, I was..." he gave a huff of a chuckle as Dora reached to hug his arm to her chest. "...distracted, I suppose."

"I'm very distracting." Dora admitted, as if this truly were a terrible character flaw, and what had previously made Lyall's heart sink to his boots now made him chuckle along with the two of them until he found himself gasping for breath. He had promptly dismissed Remus' words when he expressed guilt over failing to write to him since the day in question, it seemed things were going abruptly ill with the Order, but despite all this Lyall didn't feel in the least bit afraid for his son.

He'd always been afraid for Remus, up until then. He'd always been afraid of Remus facing the war torn world entirely on his own. But Lyall felt as if with Dora beside him Remus had some new found strength. A strength so potent that it probably didn't matter what happened to the Order or how grim the war became. It would never matter if the world broke Remus down. Because it might break him, but it wouldn't break them.

Lyall knew this from experience. The world had crushed him and left him so low all those years ago when his son had been bitten. He'd stayed that way for many a year, indeed he had never entirely recovered. But he had had his wife by his side and together, no matter how broken and beaten they had both felt, nothing had ever shattered them. They had found comfort in one another, hidden away where nothing or nobody could ever cause them harm.

His son and future daughter-in-law had wished him a goodnight. He'd watched contentedly as they'd slipped back out of the bedroom, hand in hand, and despite his increasing ills Lyall Lupin suddenly felt entirely content with the world. He felt at ease, as if a great burden had been lifted from him, so much so that he thought he might finally manage to sleep without feeling guilty.

His failing health keeping him awake, however, at just gone eleven that night Lyall dragged himself unsteadily out of bed and hobbled towards the bathroom to fetch a vial of sleeping draught. He fumbled around in the cabinet above the sink until he found the desired potion, before turning to head back to his room. He found the door to the second bedroom left half open and he paused to peer through the darkness into the room.

Both squeezed into the room's narrow single bed, Dora had managed to successfully avoid a tumble by curling up against Remus' side, her head resting upon his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. Despite their somewhat precarious sleeping arrangement, the metamorphmagus was sound asleep, her steady breathing audible in the silence as she shifted to get more comfortable, hand coming to rest against Remus' shoulder.

Lyall stood and watched for a while until he suddenly realised that he was being watched in return.

Remus, though lying perfectly still so as not to disturb the sleeping witch, was wide awake.

Their eyes met through the darkness.

Remus smiled.

Lyall had never seen a smile like it in all his years. He had never seen a smile so serene, so undeniably happy, so completely content, and as he drank in the expression triumphantly Lyall found himself smiling back.

He felt as if he might say something. But he didn't want to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that he suspected Remus and Dora experienced very rarely these days, and so Lyall chose to say nothing at all.

After all, smiling at that moment spoke volumes upon volumes.

The moment ended shortly afterwards when Remus was forced to stifle a yawn into Dora's hair and Lyall simply offered his son a nod and headed back to bed. He contentedly drank the sleeping draught, relieved to finally feel as if life had turned out well in the end, and quickly drifted off into the most wonderfully peaceful, dreamless sleep.

And it was a sleep so peaceful that come the morning when the darkness was chased away by a fresh rising son, his son brought the old wizard breakfast on a tray and attempted to rouse him from his slumber.

And at long last Lyall Lupin simply didn't wake up.

**Finish.**


End file.
